You Live Without Direction
by Stifler's Mom
Summary: Scabior, a professional Snatcher to the Dark Lord, is a wizard who you could say enjoys his job a little too much. Scabior/OC. Rewrite; previously entitled "Best Behaviour".


Snow was drifting outside Malfoy Manor, adding to the sleepy 6 inches already stuck to the ground. The night was quiet. There were no plots, no raids, no plans. The Snatchers had been out for months, and only returned for supplies, the Manor being the heart of Voldemort's unprofessional bounty hunters. Scabior avoided the duty of gathering supplies by sitting at the backdoor, chain smoking muggle cigarettes, many of his colleagues believed this to be a novelty and nothing more. It wasn't. He rolled a Marlboro Light between his index finger and thumb, contemplating the crumpled, browning parchment.

"Aparecium," he muttered, watching the words animate. It was a list of undesirables. His cerulean eyes, thick with kohl, flickered lazily over each name. He sighed, rubbing his brow. The process was just basically working down the list, and finally, they had come to a name even he expected to be somewhat challenging. Cosette Tonks; niece to Bellatrix and sister to Nymphadora. Cosette was 23, two years younger than her sister, and Bellatrix wanted her caught. The purpose was unclear, perhaps to sway her to join Voldemort (despite her half-blood status). She was not as vocally opposed to the Dark Lord as Nymphadora, in fact, Scabior had never heard of her even battling on the side of the Order. However, he knew the gravity of the task as it was appointed by Bellatrix herself- which made him anxious.

Greyback approached him, reading the names over his shoulder, seeing that Cosette was now top of the list, he exhaled. "Suppose we better proceed with caution here, eh boss?"

Scabior grunted in response, placing the Malboro between his lips and sparking it with his wand.

Greyback took his lack of interest as a distorted invitation to sit down. "Mr. Malfoy said that we're on the verge of an attack."

"Is that so?" Muttered Scabior, smoke followed his words.

"Yep. Says the end is coming, says the Dark Lord is getting impatient... What with the Goblins' failure and all, it's only a matter of time."

"As long as I get paid at the end of the day, I'll kill any man, woman or child."

* * *

I ran out of the Burrow door, wand in hand, my hair whipped behind me like it was biting back at my pursuers. I suddenly regretted not wearing shoes in my endeavour. My legs pumped hard, and sure, I contemplated disapparating but I was just behind the Burrows enchantments, just a little further...

"Impedimenta!"

It was Lupin and I knew I was done. I tripped over, landing, very graciously, on my face.

I groaned. Nymphadora grasped my top and pulled me from the ground, scratching at my collarbone with her nails. I didn't want to look at Lupin. He was always pissed, and I'd probably irritated that. "I don't for the life of me know what you're up to," screamed Lupin, "You're this close to being sent away, you know that?"

Nymphadora nodded rustically along with him.

"I'm fucking sick of this war, I'm sick of you an-"

"DON'T TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT."

I laughed. The only thing she was passionate about was him. It did my fucking head in.

I wanted to get away, as far as I could. I just wanted to leave in one quick motion and be in a forest somewhere, alone with my thoughts. I wasn't noble like my precious sister; I couldn't give a flying fuck about this war or about Potter. I wanted to be left alone. I hated my situation, surrounded by people who irritate my very skin. It wasn't a "boo hoo" nobody understands me cry for attention, I genuinely wondered what my place was with this crowd- the Order, the 'Good Guys'. I wanted to find somewhere to belong instead of being shoved into a box I couldn't fit in.

In the midst of my silence, Lupin's grip had become somewhat loose, seizing what little leeway I had, I kicked him fiercely in the ribs and he jolted backwards. My sister wore an expression of horror and disgust as I flashed her a triumphant grin. I ran for the boarder, I climbed through the air, my fingers ripping at the fabric of the atmosphere as I disapparated.

* * *

I had gone to the Forest of Mercia in Brownhills. I passed through here once with mum. It was unrecognizable to me now, covered in a sheet of snow; empty and quiet. I waited, but they didn't follow me. They wanted me gone as a personality, the only reason they kept me around was for security purposes. I pondered about where to go from here... My mother's? No. I'd finally gained some Independence (of which I have craved for 23 years), and I was not about to go crying to mummy. It occurred to me that I was stood in a snowy forest in the dead of night in nothing but cotton shorts and a tank top. I shivered, my hands cascaded around my body, before finding my bag which rested between my shoulder blades. I pulled on a hoody and a pair of Vans before concluding that I was too miserable to care about my stupid legs.

I walked for a long time, until the sky had become blood red with dawn, yet it was still very much night time. I had much time to organise the inner workings of my plans, but they were interrupted by the presence of a man dead ahead. It was odd. I looked down as the person got closer.

"Muggles can't hurt you," I whispered, gripping the strap of my bag. They would probably think I was a mental junkie and attempt to stay away them self.

I glanced up... Nothing. Nobody. I frowned and spun on my heel in an attempt to scan my surroundings. He was gone. I laughed, and now I realise it was quite a manic laugh. Had a few hours on my lonesome caused me to lose my shit? So much so that I was seeing men on the horizon?

A bird cawed from over head and flocked from a tree as if it was trying to escape something. The sound of crunching snow echoed my ears from behind me; I whirled around again, my wand- that was tucked in my sleeve- had become sweaty from anticipation. I could feel every inch of hair on my head, drenched in sweat, pulsing.

I wish it was paranoia, but I had whirled into someone as I turned around, their hand clamped on my mouth as if I'd walked right into it. My eyes were met with an angry cobalt glare. It was the man I had seen in the distance, which meant that the thing ripping into my stomach was most definitely a wand and not a knife. He had wild dark hair with a bloody streak running through it- there was a black ribbon which I suppose was what was left of an attempt to confine his mane. He had the strongest jawline I'd ever seen, which was dotted with dark stubble outlining purple lips. I studied his punky attire and fused attitude which allowed me to draw the very weak conclusion that he was on the "bad" side.

"Cosette Tonks?" He said sternly, genuinely questioning me. He had a cockney accent.

My brow was fashioned in a confused frown, and I attempted to convey "sad little white girl, please let me go" through my eyes- to no avail. I nodded, unsure of whether confirming my identity was wise. He lowered his wand, grabbing my shoulder with his now free hand. "That was easy, wasn't it beautiful?" He hissed in my ear as I was maneuvered in front of him.

We walked, with him behind me for not 5 minutes before reaching a clearing which welcomed a tent and many other men in similar clothing to my captor. I noticed they all wore red armbands, and I wondered if there was any Nazi relevance in this.

He pushed me to the floor as we got closer to his comrades and a fire central to the camp. As I hit the floor, I pulled my wand from my sleeve and pointed it at the man. I didn't get the first syllable of "stupefy" out before one of the other men had exclaimed "Expelliarmus!"

My wand flew from my gasp, over the campfire into the hands of what appeared to be a werewolf.

The man who captured me laughed, then in a change of heart, bent dangerously close to my face; his hand pressed on my neck. His eyes were blind with anger and his teeth were exposed, "Don't you ever, ever, turn your weapon on me princess." He growled. I held my breath. He climbed off of me, and I collapsed in vicious panting.

"Put her in my bed." He ordered.

"But boss-"

He got close to the protesting werewolf, like he had to me, "I swear to fuckin God, Greyback don't you start with me, I have no qualms with punching you in your mongrel face."

I felt the blood drain from my skull. Greyback? Lupin had often described him as the most blood-lusting, careless, violent werewolf to exist currently... And here this guy was, threatening him and denouncing his race as a wolf. I had no idea who he was or what he wanted with me but I was in no hurry to discover it.

Greyback approached me and pulled me up by my arm, his strength alone was enough to make me protest the pain. He ignored me, naturally. He dragged me into the tent and threw me on a small mattress near the doorway.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll be good." He commented.

* * *

I compiled to Greyback's advice and soon slept in the bunker. However, no sooner did I sleep was I woken by the heavy touch of my clothing. I was startled awake to find Greyback himself straddling me. I cried out in protest as he scrambled trying to pull my shorts off. I held them against him, kicking at him with my free legs. He laughed coldly, putting all his weight on my knees so I was flat on mattress. I squealed and punched violently.

"Go on, scream, nobody's going to help you." He laughed again.

I bucked my hips trying to toss his body to the floor but he was dead weight. To my disbelief, the tent door opened to the man who had stolen me. His eyes flickered to the incident in the corner, and without missing a beat, whipped his wand from his pocket and shouted "Stupefy!"

Greyback flew off me to the other side of the tent. The man was furious. He bounded over to Greyback screaming "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT FRATERNIZING WITH THE CARGO?" He pulled him from the ground, his dirty hands full of Greyback's hair, across the tent and threw him out of the door. He shouted more but I couldn't hear his words, I heard Greyback's howls as he was kicked and beaten for something that was apparently forbade.

After minutes had gone by the man returned to me, and knelt down beside the mattress. I sat up, legs crossed, fascinated by his very presence, but also frightened.

"I'm sorry about him." He murmured whilst looking at the ground, as if he didn't want to apologise but was being made by his mummy.

"Erm... No harm done." I assured.

He looked up at me, his eyes a bright, cloudless sky. He produced a canister from his leather jacket and held it out for me. I frowned and did not take it from him.

"It's not poison." He smiled.

"Then, you first."

He rolled his eyes unsympathetically and chugged from the flask. He shuddered when swallowing, his eyes full of tears, before holding it out for me. I took a timid sip. Firewhiskey. I was pleasantly surprised. I took a big gulp and did not shudder. I nodded thankfully.

A minute passed in comfortable silence, which I itched to break.

"What's your name?"

He looked nervously around, like someone could be listening. He moistened his lips. "Scabior."

No, I had not heard of him.

"And what are you?"

He looked annoyed and confused. "What?"

"Well, you don't kidnap people for no reason... Do you?"

"Oh, haven't you heard of Snatchers? We're like, erm, bounty hunters."

"But what have I done?" I asked, emphasis on the "I".

"I don't get involved in that side of it, love. I just deliver the goods and take the pay cheque."

Without a blind bit of thought, I flung myself from the mattress to the tiny bit of floor in front of him and realised I was to become more intimate with him than planned. My knee had rested on his leg, and my other leg propped up suggestively. I had a hand on his arm, squeezing him. Most of all however, my face was but an inch from his. I felt the heat of firewhiskey and stubble on my lips. I decided to continue with my campaign.

"Please," I begged, "please let me go."

His eyes attempted to evade me, but I followed them and forced him to look at me.

"Scabior, I can't go to the Ministry; do you know how my Aunt is? I don't doubt that you do. Please, I don't want to fight on either side of this war- I don't care. Please."

My hands had softened on his coat, but my breath had become short with the lack of space between us. I felt I had forced an attraction on myself; there is no way I'd think he was attractive had I stayed on the mattress. His eyes flickered from my lips to my eyes, taking a gulp he pushed me off on to the floor as he found his feet.

"I'm sorry, it's not at my discretion." His voice was distorted and empty.


End file.
